Not By Blood

Sorry for the long break from writing, life happened. Let me know if you enjoy this one and if it should be a series?

Happy reading xx

I wasn't supposed to be home.

Mom and her new husband were on their honeymoon they took a late honeymoon since they wanted to wait until all the kids were out of the house, they thought I was still at school, buried in finals. I missed my bed, missed the peace that an empty, silent house brought. I missed my friends that didn't go to college states away and I missed my family. I recognize that I shouldn't have applied for colleges that were 17 hours away, but I wanted to become my own person outside of the town that I grew up in, but damn if I wasn't homesick all the time.

However, I wasn't ready to see a red BMW in the driveway.

A red BMW that was also supposed to be states away. Damnit, I wanted some peace and quiet.

Downside to my mom's new marriage, while the man she married makes her immensely happy, he unfortunately spawned an asshole of a son. Luke, tall, broad-shouldered, with a lazy, smug grin that tortured me for four years in high school and if I'm being honest, tortured me every night of high school. Typical, high school jock that picked on the "lesser beings". We haven't seen each other since the wedding three years ago.

I park my silver Nissan in the driveway beside his and put both hands on the steering wheel.

"It's fine, you can still have a peaceful weekend off. It's been three years, he's an adult, he's almost 25 years old for fuck's sake. You both can be home and be civilized adults. I'm also not the same, skinny Sloane." I smoothed my long, red hair in my mirror and reapplied my signature pink lipgloss. Satisfied with my reflection, I do a quick once over in my seat of my outfit. Pink mini-skirt, somehow wrinkle free, white tank miraculously stain-free and displaying my toned, tan stomach I've worked hard to achieve, I adjust my bra so my full d-cup cleavage is more prominent. I make sure to look as confident as I can getting out of the car, I'm no longer the Sloane to cower and hide, I'm not looking for a fight, but I'm done backing away. Reaching into the backseat, I grab my duffle bag, take a deep breathe, and head inside.

I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and hung my keys up on the hook by the kitchen. Everything smelled like home, faintly like detergent and left over cologne. Comfortable. Familiar. Almost like nothing changed.

But it had.

Because he was here.

I didn't even glance in his direction when I passed the kitchen threshold, though I felt his eyes on me. The weight of them dragging down my back and burning any skin that was showing. Considering my skirt stopped below my round, soft ass,and my thin top stopped above my navel, it was a lot of skin.

Just walked in like I hadn't just locked eyes with Luke across the hallway of my past. Reaching up into the cabinet for a glass to fill with water, I heard slow, deliberate footsteps. And then I felt the heat from him sanding too close behind me.

"You're not even going to say hello?" His voice--rough, familiar, and laced with attitude--cut through the tension like a knife. "Real mature, Sloane."

I took a deep, breath, setting the glass down on the counter before turning towards my step-brother.

Fuck...

He's taller than I remembered, broader in the chest. More tattoos than last time running down his thick arms. Jaw sharp. His hair messy, like he just hand his hands running through it. His gray eyes looked colder than ever, but sharp. Focused. Watching me the way you watch something you're not supposed to want. His gaze sending goosebumps down my arms.

I crossed my arms and tilted my head to the side. "I wasn't aware we were on speaking terms."

He scoffed. "Since when have you ever had a problem speaking? You ways had something smart to say."

"And you always have something shitty to say."

His smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Guess old habits die hard."

"Guess you haven't grown up much." I was so proud of how bitchy I sounded, no matter how much my body was reacting to him standing so close. The words left my mouth sharper than I intended.

He took a step closer--not touching, just crowding me, like he was daring me to move.

My nipples hardened as his cologne hit my nostrils. It's fine, I thought to myself, it's just your bodies natural reaction, you're not actually feeling this way towards your step-brother.

Luke didn't snap back at me this time like I expected.

Instead his gaze dropped--slow, deliberate. Like he was REALLY looking at me, really seeing me for the first time.

"Nah," he muttered, voice rougher now. "But you have."

My mouth opened but no words came out. My pulse stuttered in my throat, and for a second I couldn't move. I could feel the heat radiating off of him, my thighs clenched. My skin prickled like it knew something I didn't want to admit.

I swallowed. Hard.

"You filled out," he added, quieter now. "Didn't used to look at you like this. Would've gotten myself in trouble back then."

A slow, hot burn climbed up my neck. I hated the way my stomach flipped, hated the way my thighs kept pressed tighter together. My body was reacting to him, plain and simple. A jolt of heat every time his voice dipped low..a flutter in my chest every time he looked at me like that.

And he WASN'T supposed to look at me like that.

He was my fucking step-brother, the guy who made my life hell for four years, who knew how to press every button just to watch me squirm.

But now I'm not squirming because I'm angry..

I'm squirming for entirely different reasons.

"Don't look at me like that," I said finally finding my voice.

His head tilted to the side, like a predator watching his prey. "Like what?"

"Like you forgot we're related."

He chuckled--low and dark and just a little cruel. "We're not blood, Sloane."

"That doesn't make it okay."

"No," he agreed. "But it makes it tempting.."

Luke's eyes lingered on me for another beat--silent, sharp, his gaze cutting through the tension like a blade. My heart was pounding in my chest, louder now, like it was trying to escape.

He took a deep breath, and I almost thought he might do something. Anything. Step forward. Close the distance. Touch me again.

But instead, he leaned back, his smirk returning as if it had never left. His eyes flickered up and down my body--slow, deliberate--before he backed away, the heat of his body finally leaving mine.

"Guess I'll let you cool off for now," he said, his voice still low, still that edge of something dangerous in it. "Wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

His words stung in the exact way I didn't want them to--mocking, but with just enough truth to make my stomach twist. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy on the floor as he headed toward the living room. But before he disappeared around the corner, he glanced back over his shoulder. "You're welcome to join me whenever, though," he called, voice casual, like nothing had happened.

I didn't move. I couldn't.

I stayed there, frozen in the kitchen, my heart still racing, my body humming with something I couldn't shake. I hated the way his words had lingered in my chest, how they felt like a challenge, something I couldn't refuse even if I wanted to.

But I did want to.

I pressed my hand to my forehead, trying to steady my breath. The heat was still there--tingling under my skin, burning between my legs.

God, I hated this.

I needed to get a grip. Needed to cool down. A cold shower was the only thing that might help. Maybe then I'd be able to breathe again, to think again.

I turned, walked toward the stairs, and headed straight to the bathroom, heart still thudding, mind a mess of confusion. I stripped quickly, stepping into the shower and letting the cold water slam against my skin, trying to wash away the heat.

But it didn't go away. It only intensified, the cold shower doing nothing to freeze out the fire Luke had set in me.

I stayed there for what felt like forever, letting the cold water bite at my skin, trying to force my body to obey my mind. But nothing worked. I was still aware of every inch of him, the way he looked at me, the way he moved around me.

I didn't know what to do with all this.

Finally, I stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel, and trudged toward my bed, hoping a nap might clear my head, but knowing it probably wouldn't. I sank under the covers anyway, exhausted, frustrated, my mind replaying every moment with Luke.

I knew I should be angry. I knew this was all wrong. But my body didn't care. And neither did the part of me that couldn't forget the way he looked at me.

The sheets were soft and cool against my skin, my hair still damp from the shower. I didn't bother getting dressed--too tired, too annoyed, too wound up. The towel had been tossed to the floor, forgotten. I slipped under the covers bare, telling myself a nap would fix it. Reset my brain. Kill the heat still crawling up my spine.

But I didn't sleep peacefully.

The dream started slow, blurred and hazy. Fingers trailing along my thigh--warm, rough, familiar. A low voice in my ear, teasing, close enough to taste. I couldn't see his face, but I didn't have to.

It was Luke.

His hand slid higher, grazing skin that should've been off-limits. His mouth pressed against the curve of my neck. And I didn't stop him. God, I wanted him. The way he touched me, kissed me, whispered my name like it was something dangerous--I wanted all of it.

My hips shifted under the sheets, chasing friction that wasn't there. My breath hitched as the dream turned sharper, more vivid. His mouth on my chest. His hand between my legs. The low sound of his voice saying, "I knew you wanted it."

And he was right.

My back arched. My fingers tangled in the sheets, my legs falling open just a little--

Then I jolted awake.

Heart racing. Skin flushed. And one hand buried between my thighs under the sheet.

I froze.

Shit.

The room was dim now, late afternoon light slipping in through the blinds, painting gold across the floor. My breath came in quick, shallow pulls, my whole body pulsing with leftover heat from the dream.

I yanked my hand back, pulling the sheet tighter over myself just as the sound of footsteps hit the hallway.

Knock knock.

"Sloane?"

My stomach dropped.

It was Luke.

Of course it was Luke.

I scrambled to sit up, still naked under the blanket, trying not to sound like I'd just been caught mid-orgasm. "Y-Yeah?"

He didn't wait for permission--just cracked the door open casually, like it was no big deal.

He was leaning against the frame, one hand on the door, the other still holding his phone. "I ordered pizza. It just got here."

His eyes flicked to the bed--and lingered.

I don't know what he saw.

Maybe just the flushed cheeks.

The messy hair.

The fact that I clutched the sheet to my chest like it was the only thing saving me from complete exposure.

But his mouth quirked like he knew.

"You okay?" he asked, all innocent.

I cleared my throat, trying to pull myself together. "Fine. I just... fell asleep."

"Yeah?" His eyes didn't move from my face. "Seemed like a pretty intense nap."

My jaw clenched. "I'll be down in a minute."

He didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Just gave me that half-smirk, eyes dragging over me one last time before he pulled the door shut behind him. I fell back against the pillow, heart still pounding, thighs pressed tightly together. This wasn't going away. It was getting worse. And the worst part?

I didn't want it to stop.

I waited until I heard him walk back down the stairs before I slid out of bed, still feeling the ghost of that dream clinging to my skin.

I didn't feel like putting on real clothes--not for pizza, not for him. But I also didn't feel like being totally exposed again.

So I grabbed the smallest pair of sleep shorts I owned--thin, silk, barely-there. Deep wine red and hugging just enough to make me feel wicked. I tugged on a huge black t-shirt over it. No bra. No panties. The hem hung just below the curve of my ass, brushing against bare skin like a secret no one else was supposed to know.

But he would.

Let him wonder.

I padded down the stairs barefoot and followed the smell of pizza into the kitchen. Luke was already there, lounging against the counter, two plates stacked and a six-pack cracked open on the counter.

He looked up when I walked in.

His eyes dropped--just for a second--to my legs, my shirt, the space where nothing else was. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. Steady.

"No pineapple. I remember you hate it."

I blinked. That was...unexpected. "Thanks."

He handed me a plate, then cracked open a beer and passed it to me without a word. For a moment, things felt weirdly normal--like we weren't caught in some twisted tension spiral.

We took our food to the living room, plates in laps, the TV humming in the background.

Halfway through the first slice, he broke the silence.

"Hey..." he said, not looking at me. "About earlier."

I glanced up, surprised to see his jaw working like he was actually...nervous.

"If I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

My stomach twisted, but not in a bad way.

"I wasn't trying to cross a line," he added, eyes flicking to mine. "I just--look, I'm not good at this kind of shit. And I didn't expect you to come home looking like that."

My lips curled. "Like what?"

He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Like you grew up."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I didn't. I just nodded, took another sip of beer, and let the silence settle.

"Truce?" he asked after a beat, lifting his bottle halfway toward me.

I bumped mine against his. "Truce."

We finished our slices without any more weirdness. Just quiet conversation--casual, easy. Caught up on school, his job at the auto shop, our parents' honeymoon photos, and all the random little things that didn't feel dangerous to talk about.

It felt...nice.

"Movie?" he asked when we were done, already reaching for the remote.

"What kind?"

He gave me a look. "Scary, obviously."

I groaned. "You know I hate scary movies."

"Exactly," he said, grinning. "Means you'll stay on the couch instead of running away."

"Or I'll throw pizza crust at you the first time you try to scare me."

He shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

I curled my legs under me, the shirt riding a little higher up my thighs as I settled into the cushions. Luke grabbed another beer, dropped onto the couch beside me, he pulled my calves on top of his legs and hit play.

The room dimmed. The opening credits rolled.

And even though we weren't touching, even though no one said a word--I felt him there.

The buzz of awareness under my skin. The heat that hadn't left since I stepped out of the shower.

But for now, we were just watching a movie. Just drinking a beer. Just pretending this was normal. By the time the second movie started, I'd finished my third beer and was feeling just buzzed enough to stop caring how close we were sitting on the couch--or how much skin my tiny shorts weren't covering.

Luke was on his second or third too, his arm draped across the back of the couch, casual and loose, like he wasn't fully paying attention to the way my bare thigh brushed against his jeans every time I shifted.

The scary movie had been too much--I'd jumped at everything, and Luke wouldn't stop laughing at me.

Don't even say it," I muttered, pulling my knees up to my chest as the new thriller started.

"I didn't say anything."

"You thought it loud enough."

He grinned, taking a sip of beer. "You've got the reflexes of a chihuahua in a thunderstorm."

"Screw you."

"You screamed so loud, the neighbor's dog barked back."

"Okay, now you're just making things up."

Luke laughed and leaned in a little closer, bumping his shoulder into mine. "It's kind of cute though."

My breath caught--not at the words, exactly, but at the way he said them. Like he didn't mean to. Like it just... slipped out.

I didn't answer.

Instead, I focused on the screen, trying to pretend that the warmth in my cheeks was from the beer and not the way he was looking at me.

The movie had hit its halfway mark--moody, slow, suspenseful--and I was so caught up in the tension that I didn't realize he'd shifted beside me. Not until--

"AHH--!"

His hands clamped suddenly around my thighs--firm, quick--and I screamed, half-lunging off the couch and nearly throwing my beer across the room.

"LUKE!"

He doubled over laughing, completely unbothered by the fact that my heart was doing cartwheels.

"I hate you!" I yelled, swatting at his arm, my thighs still tingling from where his hands had gripped me.

He was still laughing, shoulders shaking, wiping a tear from his eye. "Oh my God, your face--"

"You're an asshole!"

"That was the best thing I've done all week."

I shoved him again, but my smile betrayed me. My pulse was racing for a dozen reasons, and not one of them had to do with the damn movie.

His hands had been warm. His fingers had lingered.

And now I couldn't stop thinking about them.

Luke finally calmed down, grinning at me through a breathless exhale. "You gonna survive, drama queen?"

I gave him a withering look and grabbed another slice of pizza, more for something to do than because I was hungry.

"I'm fine. You're lucky I didn't knee you in the face."

"Would've been worth it."

His gaze lingered for just a second too long. And even in the dark, I could see that glint in his eye.

The movie played on, but I wasn't really watching anymore.

Not when I could still feel the ghost of his fingers on my skin.

When Luke grabbed my thighs, I shot straight up off the couch like I'd been electrocuted--shrieking, swearing, the whole dramatic performance. But what I didn't realize--until I caught the look on his face--was what else had caught his attention.

His eyes weren't just laughing.

They were locked in.

I looked down.

Shit.

The oversized t-shirt clung to me now, bunched up from the movement. No bra, nothing underneath--just bare skin and the soft, full bounce of my chest that absolutely didn't go unnoticed.

Luke swallowed, fast--like he was trying not to stare but completely failing.

I rolled my eyes, trying to act like I didn't see him seeing everything.

I flopped back onto the couch with a huff, stretching my legs out and letting them rest across his lap in protest. Petty, maybe. But satisfying.

"Payback," I muttered, grabbing the remote and flipping to a comedy this time.

But my shorts had ridden up with the movement--silky, thin, barely covering the curve of my ass. I noticed the shift too late. And when I glanced at Luke, his jaw was a little too tight. His eyes, not on the screen.

He was staring again.

I didn't say anything.

Neither did he.

But a few minutes into the new movie, I felt it.

His fingers.

Soft at first--just tracing along my shin, aimless and slow. It could've been innocent. Could've been nothing. But then his hand moved higher, trailing up my calf, then along the inside of my knee, warm and deliberate.

My breath hitched.

His fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, tracing slow, lazy circles. Just enough to make my skin prickle. Just enough to make me ache.

And then--lower again. Like he was pretending he didn't just almost touch me there.

His voice broke the silence, low and casual like we were talking about the weather.

"You wearing underwear?"

I turned my head, giving him a look. "Wow. Straight to it, huh?"

He shrugged, smirking but keeping his hand right where it was. "Just asking a question."